“Hyacinth,” Aspen corrected. “But I have some aconite just over here.”
I followed her to a bed of similar-looking flowers, though they were a darker hue than the hyacinths.
“I’m actually researching aconite right now. That and angelica.”
“Interesting. I’m sure you know aconite’s other names, right? Monkshood and wolfsbane?”
I nodded. “So called because werewolves were said to use it to turn themselves back into human form.”
“Exactly. I prefer to call it monkshood, though, considering we’re on monastery land.”
“I never understood that. Why monkshood?”
“See the petals here,” she said, delicately holding them between her gloved finger and her thumb. “How this one droops down like that? They used to think that looked like a monk’s hood.”
“It’s an analgesic, right?”
“And a cardiac depressant, but in very small doses, and I’m talking infinitesimal. It also contains an array of cardiotoxins and neurotoxins that can be absolutely lethal. A strong dose of the alkaloids in it, especially from the root, could stop a person’s heart. Every part of it is poisonous, in fact. People don’t realize, and they grow it all over the place. It’s in gardens everywhere because, I mean, look at it. It’s gorgeous.” She crossed her arms, and for some reason, even though we were completely alone, she lowered her voice. “So you really study witches and werewolves?”
I nodded, confused by the need for secrecy. She almost seemed to be acting like what I did was somehow secret or taboo.
“What on earth led you to specialize in that?”
“It’s just where I ended up. Almost by accident, really. I thought I wanted to study the agricultural economics of early modern England, but once I started digging into the discipline, I ended up with a passion for folklore and for where folk beliefs intersect with historical fact. And it led me here.”
Aspen held my gaze a moment. “There are no accidents, Robin,” she said, and then turned and continued on through the garden.
1.4SPECTRAL VISITATIONS
The belief pattern that has been created around the UFO abductions is reminiscent of medieval theories of abduction by demons, pacts with Satan, and flights of the Sabbat, complete with the Mark of the Devil on the body of the witch.
—JACQUESVALLEE,CONFRONTATIONS
We had lunch at twelve-thirty sharp—a feast laid out on a blanket atop a soft patch of grass. Everyone from the photo was there, eating magnificent food and partaking liberally of crisp white Spanish wine. The food was spectacular, with the standouts being a salad of bright green leaves glistening with oil and vinegar and bursting with an intense flavor of onion, and a chicken dish served with aromatic yellow rice.
The group had a vibrancy to it that I wasn’t really used to. They seemed comfortable with one another, quick to laugh and tease. Dorian was an exceptionally generous host, constantly smiling over at me as if we were old friends. Finn, who had so unnerved me with his cold gaze in the garden, turned out to be warm and friendly. I couldn’t think why my initial take on him had been so off. In fact, he was the life of the party, making sure everyone had wine before drinking from the bottle with unbridled enthusiasm. Handsome almost beyond measure, he had a Byroniccelebrity feel to him, and I found it strange that he’d chosen to go into academia instead of into the performing arts.
The others were equally elegant. Dorian gave off young Cary Grant vibes. Lexi had changed into linen palazzo pants and wore her hair in a low chignon that seemed to catch the sun every time she turned her head. Aspen, now sporting scarlet lipstick and movie-star sunglasses, had covered her overalls with a man’s dress shirt that hung on her small frame in exactly the right way. In their presence, I felt my own lack of style quite keenly.
“Enjoying the chicken?” asked Dorian, placing a cool hand on my shoulder.
“It’s delicious.” I took a sip of water to try to even out some of the wine I’d drunk.
“Poule au riz,” Lexi said. “A classic French dish.”
“So Lexi tells me you’re moving into one of the bungalows?” said Dorian.
“Yes, into Dr. Casimir’s old place,” I said, seeing a green light to press on some of the questions I’d been so desperately wanting to ask. But as soon as the words left my mouth, an obvious pall settled over the group and everyone stared at me blankly except for Finn, who looked off toward the woods.
“Into Isabelle’s cabana?” Aspen asked uneasily. She shot a glance at Lexi.
“That’s okay, right? I know she left just a while ago. If you think she might return, then I don’t want to invade her space.”
There was a silence that lasted too long for my comfort.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” said Aspen, giving me a dimpled smile.
“What exactly did she do here? Dorian, you said cognitive neuro-programming?”
